The Giant

Chapter 59

"Welcome stranger, what is someone like you doing in these parts?" The kindly bartender asks, his twinkling blue eyes looking the haggard figure over.

There's a stark contrast between the two. The bartender is a large, burly figure. His thick arms covered in as much hair as tattoos. His thick, red beard is unkempt and wild as well as his hair. He's almost Viking like. But even with his imposing demeanor, his kind smile, bright eyes, and welcoming nature create an almost instant trust. However the stranger is much different. His face hidden in shadow by the large hood of his cloak, his figure slim. There is nothing discernable. No expression to read, no eyes to stare into. He is merely a shadow.

"Just traveling through." He grunts, sliding onto one of the many stools.

"Where to?" He inquires, busing himself with wiping down the counter.

"No where in particular."

"Well then, can I get ya anything."

"Whisky would be nice."

"Then whisky you will have." He grins, turning away from the man. He continues to talk as he get the strangers drink ready, the metal tankard clinking. "Not many are out in this weather."

"Not many seem to be out in this country." The stranger snorts.

"You'd be surprised, there are quite a few of us round here."

"Is that so?" The bartender pushes the full tankard to the stranger who seems to take is gratefully. He gulps it down without hesitation, wiping his mouth. He slams the now empty tankard down on the counter. "Another?"

"Coming right up." He turns away again.

"Why stay here?"

"I am afraid I do not know what you mean."

"In giant country. The border is just a few days north of here. Why not make home there?"

"Let me put it this way, home is not necessarily where it is safe. Home is where you feel like you belong."

"I cant say that I completely understand."

"Then I would say you haven't been home." The bartender says with a sad smile, standing back up to his full brutish height.

"Maybe not, unless a person can be classified as home." The stranger says almost sadly.

"You see that there picture?" The bartender nods towards a far off corner. The stranger turns to look. A portrait of a beautiful woman hangs there, illuminated by the flickering light of several candles. "That is my lass, the reason I do what I do. She is the meaning of home."

"Count yourself lucky to have her by your side." The stranger sighs.

"Oh I see."

"Beg your pardon?"

"The only reason a man would brave this country and this weather on top of it all would be for a lass. Who is she?"

The stranger chuckles softly. "Her name is Sophia and she is one hell of a woman."

"Must be for you to be all the way out here."

The stranger looks up and finally removes the hood of his black cloak, revealing the travel worn face of none other then Clay Dering. He smiles weakly before once again greeting the bottom of his tankard with a greedy gulp.

"She means more than anything in the world to me." Clay sighs. "I would do anything and everything for her. God, I have."

The bartender pauses and begins to realize that this stranger perched at his bar is struggling with far more than just the rough road that cuts through giant country. He wonders for a moment if he should consider asking about the mysterious lass who this man speaks so highly of. And yet, he senses a distinct undertone of bitterness in the mans words. Something... something is not quite right.